Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Fuck. I think I need this girl to marry me.
Chapter Five
Cordelia
"No cell reception?" I repeat, staring at Deacon in horror. "What do you mean you don't have cell reception?" Is that my voice? Surely that's not my voice. Why is it so loud and squeaky?
"I mean, Sunshine," he growls, "that little contraption in your hand is about as useless as tits on a bullfrog out here. The only thing you're calling with it is the spirit of Paul Bunyan."
Oh, he's never letting that go.
Tyr, his adorable Siberian Husky, thumps his tail against the side of the couch, watching us intently. He's a sweet dog.
"I feel like this would have been relevant info yesterday, Deacon."
"You didn't ask."
I splutter, trying to convince myself that I'm a grown professional and I can handle this. Except…I don't feel very grown or professional right now. I feel like a crazy person, stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with the world's hottest—and most infuriating—mountain man. Part of me wants to strangle him. The other part wants to throw myself at him.
I need to talk to the girls. This is an emergency of the highest order.
Hello, Paul Bunyan? I think I want to sleep with my infuriatingly hot boss. Also, I've never done that before so could you be a pal and help a girl out with some guidance? Kthnx.
Argh!
"How did I call you yesterday?"
"Landline."
Thank you, Baby Jesus!
"May I use the landline to make calls while I'm here?" I ask. See? I can be a grown professional. Go, team me.
"You'll only be here tonight, Sunshine."
"What?" I set my phone on the coffee table to plant my hands on my hips. "Now, listen here, Deacon Cromwell. You can't fire me before I even start! Sure, maybe I haven't made the greatest first impression today. And sure, maybe you do know what my underwear looks like. And yes, maybe I don't have the first clue how to be a mountain person, but I've seen your office. And your office needs Jesus."
"That's not—"
"Actually, I'm not even sure Jesus could find anything in there. You haven't filed a single thing since 2017. 2017! And don't even get me started on your desk because I'm still not convinced there's actually one in there at all." I've seen trainwrecks in better condition than his office. If a trainwreck and a tornado had a baby, it still wouldn't compare to the state of the small, detached building he uses as an office.
"We're going out to prep some of the cabins, Sunshine," he says. "We've got hikers coming in for Valentine's Day. We'll stay there overnight, then head back down in the daylight."
"Oh," I say ruefully. And then what he said sinks in. "Um, how are we going?"
"We'll drive part of the way, then hike in once the trail ends."
I gulp, my stomach churning.
"It's an easy hike, Cordelia."
"That's…not the problem," I wheeze, sinking down onto the sofa as anxiety claws through me. I lower my head, taking deep breaths as spots swim before my eyes.
"Fuck," Deacon growls, stomping toward me. He places his hand on my back, pressing firmly. "Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths, baby."
I don't know what in our short history makes him think I'm capable of contorting my body into that position. Maybe he missed the size of my boobs and belly, but they don't exactly make contortionism easy!
"Do it, Cordelia," he orders, his voice cracking like a whip.
I slump forward, doing my best to obey.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now breathe for me, baby. Deep breaths."
I suck in a breath and exhale it. The black spots in my eyes slowly disappear.
"Better?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good," he growls, plucking me up from the couch like a ragdoll. His hands sink into my hips, his furious gray eyes meeting mine as he lifts me to my feet. "I don't know what the hell you're so afraid of, but you're going to tell me. Now."
"Paul Bunyan, save me," I whisper, caught in the maelstrom swirling through his eyes. They're the color of gunmetal now, shooting off sparks. They're so pretty. And so is he, like a fiery, furious Viking warlord.
Chapter Six
Deacon
"You can't hike in those boots, Sunshine."
"Why not?" Cordelia demands, sticking one foot out to admire her black boot.
"They have fucking fur on them, for one," I growl. "And I'm pretty sure it's fake fur."
"It is. I'm against animal cruelty." She beams at me from the small island in the kitchen, those dimples making my cock stir.
"Secondly," I say, trying like hell to avoid the way it twitches in my pants, "you couldn't even walk across the parking lot in the damn things yesterday. There's no way you can climb a mountain in them today."
"This isn't the same pair, Deacon. Those were charcoal. These are black."
"Charcoal is black, Cordelia."
"No. Charcoal is charcoal. Black is black."